


Normal Didn't Suit Her

by LemonyZest



Series: Normalcy is Overrated [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brady is a shockingly good friend, Dean is just really far in the closet, F/F, F/M, Female Sam Winchester, Implied Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Lesbian Jessica Moore, Multi, Parental Bobby Singer, Pre-Canon, Sam is a girl and it changes nothing, The Winchesters are Bisexual, WOW I can't believe that tag already exists, Y'all can fight me, author is trying ok, considering he's a demon, idk how tags work, like he is in the Narnia of closets, protective!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonyZest/pseuds/LemonyZest
Summary: From the very beginning they all knew how it would end. They all knew who would end it. Sam and Dean Winchester were the fated vessels of the apocalypse. So naturally when John and Mary were born there was an appropriate amount of trepidation.John and Mary brought Dean Winchester into the world on a frosty morning in January. Mary sung ‘Hey Jude’ and John whistled ‘As Time Goes By’. Things went well for the Winchesters for a few years. Everyone but them knew it wouldn't last. Mary and John had already decided on the name Sam for their newest family member by the time they went for the first ultrasound.John laughed the whole way home. It was a simple fix, really. They'd still be bringing home little Sam in a few months. They would just be a Samantha instead of a Samuel.In which Sam is born a girl and it changes nothing. Mostly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the fandom, largely because there are nowhere NEAR enough fem Sam fics. I'll possibly edit this later, but for now please share thoughts and ideas.

From the very beginning they all knew how it would end. They all knew who would end it. Sam and Dean Winchester were the fated vessels of the apocalypse. So naturally when John and Mary were born there was an appropriate amount of trepidation.

John and Mary brought Dean Winchester into the world on a frosty morning in January. Mary sung ‘Hey Jude’ and John whistled ‘As Time Goes By’. Things went well for the Winchesters for a few years. Everyone but them knew it wouldn't last. Mary and John had already decided on the name Sam for their newest family member by the time they went for the first ultrasound. 

John laughed the whole way home. It was a simple fix, really. They'd still be bringing little Sam home in a few months. It would just be a Samantha instead of a Samuel.

Most of the angels didn't think on it much either. Sam Winchester would be born and be Lucifer's true vessel. Everything was still going according to plan. No one gave it much thought at the time, from the angels in Heaven to the demons in Hell it seemed inconsequential that Sam Winchester was born a girl. It didn't change the fact that she was Lucifer's vessel, wouldn't change the night in the nursery when Mary died, wouldn't change John from raising her and Dean as hunters. It changed a great deal of other things though.

***

“You want to say goodnight to Sammy?” Mary asked. Dean nodded and Mary stooped down so that he could hop down to clamber onto the crib. Dean whispered a hushed goodnight and pressed a gentle kiss to Sammy’s forehead. Mary allowed herself to bask in the moment, peaceful and mundane. This was all she ever wanted for herself and for her children. 

“Hey, buddy.” John stood at the edge of the room, his body hovering in the doorway. One foot out the door, Mary mused. 

“Daddy!” Dean jumped gracelessly from his perch on the side of Sam’s crib to run into John’s waiting arms. The interaction brought a genuine smile to her face as she watched her boys. 

“What do you think? Sammy big enough to toss around the football with us yet?” John asked, bouncing Dean slightly in his arms. 

“No!” Dean laughed while Mary shook her head and made to squeeze out the doorway past her husband.

“You got him?” 

John nodded, patting Dean on the head, and Mary left. She heard John mutter a quiet, “Sweet dreams, Sammy” before he turned off the lights in the nursery. She could make out Sam cooing quietly from her crib. Mary busied herself with tidying the kitchen and packing up leftovers from dinner while John got Dean to bed. 

Growing up Mary had certainly never pictured herself as a doting wife and mother, but this was her life now. She had chosen it for herself. When she thought of Sam and Dean she couldn’t regret it. She wanted out of the life her father had raised her in and her wish had been granted, albeit with great sacrifice. Dean would grow up worrying about grades and girls and making the football team, not life and death and monsters. Mary would worry about the length of Sam’s dresses instead of the risk of a hunt. She was looking forward to every minute of watching her babies grow up. 

The stairs creaked and Mary tensed on instinct. When she turned to see John, the tension eased from her shoulders. She really had to kill that habit. No more monsters, no more bumps in the night. She was safe, and her family was safe. “Yes John?”

“Dean’s asking for you.” John told her, and Mary shook her head.

“And here I thought you said you ‘got him’.” She mocked sweeping past him and up to Dean’s room. Dean was sitting quietly, tucked under sheets and blankets, staring straight up at the ceiling until he heard her footsteps. 

“Mom!” He sat up excitedly.

“Don’t get up on my account,” she said. Mary settled onto the side of his bed. “Daddy says you wanted to see me?”

He nodded, “I want a kiss goodnight.”

Mary sighed out a laugh and leaned forward to kiss his cheek, then his forehead, and lastly his nose. “Good?” she asked him, and Dean nodded again. A crooked smile with gaps from where he’d begun to lose baby teeth beamed up at her. Mary ruffled his sandy hair as she got up and made her way out of the room. “Angels are watching over you.” A reminder, a promise. Mary left her son’s room. 

Static on the baby monitor woke her up later that night. “John?” Mary’s eyes were heavy with sleep and she would rather stay put in the warm bed. Turning over she saw John wasn’t in bed and let out a heavy sigh as the monitor sparked with static and little whines of distress again. Sammy was probably hungry and John was probably working her up. She shuffled out of bed and down the hall to Sam’s room, yawning as she dragged her bare feet across the hard, cold floor. It was a stark contrast to her warm bed and Mary wished briefly that she’d put slippers on. Mary rubbed at her bleary eyes as she reached the open door to the nursery, a silhouette of deep black holding her little girl. “John? Is she hungry?”

He shushed her, holding Sammy close. She seemed quiet, so Mary hummed before leaving. She was about ready to head back to bed when she noticed a light flickering over by the stairs. She frowned, walking over and tapping it until it evened out. That was odd. There was noise from downstairs, too. Filtered voices, probably from the TV. John must have been watching it when Sammy woke up. Mary walked down the stairs with a mind to turn it off. 

Then her heart stopped at the sight of her husband, snoring in his chair, a bottle at his feet.

“Oh, my God.” Sam. Mary ran up the stairs calling out, “Sammy!” She ran right into the nursery. Yellow eyes met blue, and Mary screamed.

The angels watched.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sucker punches a six year old girl.

Dean knew it was his responsibility to watch out for Sammy. Always. That was his job. Even before his childhood got tossed down the garbage disposal he'd always fancied himself his baby sister's protector. Mary would say Sam was a princess and Dean always insisted that made him a knight. He didn't want to be some sissy prince; he wanted to fight dragons and go on daring adventures. And protect Sammy.

The leaves were still green and the trees full from the summer when they arrived in a ratty backwater town somewhere Dean couldn't be bothered to remember the name of. It was nice enough. There was a weird stain he couldn't discern the origin of on his bed at the motel and Dad was ditching them, so nothing out of the usual. 

John went through half the motions to shove him and Sammy into the school on the other side of town and with little more than a “Watch out for Sammy,” and a vague promise of being back sooner or later he was out the door and on a hunt. 

Dean was already a decent shot and he was good at following orders. John knew it. He'd never say it. John never said how good Dean was at anything ever, but Dean knew. He watched other people shoot, and Bobby had told him he had a good eye. Dean even knew how to dismantle and rebuild every gun in the back of the impala. He may not be able to put a name to all of them yet but he'd be damned if he didn't know how to use them. Even with all that he was being left behind to babysit.

Dean glared at the brown frizz he could see sticking up from the other side of the couch where Sam was watching some nonsense movie that didn't even have any explosions in it. The clock read quarter of 9, so Dean shuffled out of the kitchen to the couch and snatched the remote.

Sam whined at him but he switched off the tv anyway. “Bedtime, Sammy.”

Her only response was to scrunch her nose up for a second before she asked, “Can I use the fairy toothpaste?”

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes, and said, “Duh. I sure don't want to.” For some reason she always asked. Dean just shook his head. 

Dean pulled out some pajamas that he'd outgrown ages ago and laid them out on Sam's bed before kicking her out of the bathroom so she could change while he brushed his own teeth. Not with the silly pink toothpaste that smelled like bubblegum. Obviously. When Dean exited Sam was already nestled under the paper thin comforter on her bed. He nodded, congratulating himself on managing to get her to sleep at a reasonable time. Even if he hadn’t entirely done much of anything outside of turning off the tv. 

As expected Sam found her way to his bed sometime in the night. He woke up to her mess of brown hair tickling his face with Sam curled up next to him. Dean just grumbled and checked the clock. The glowing numbers read 5:32. There wouldn't be much point in going back to bed. Dean crawled out of his sheets, double checked Sammy was still asleep, then went to get breakfast ready. There were crackers in the cabinets and some jelly in the fridge.

He’d probably have to get something else for dinner. Dad hadn’t left much cash, but there was a bar near the motel and Dean knew how to play pool. He could turn the couple of 20’s in his jacket pockets into a dozen like that. Tonight might be rough, but he’d probably have to bring Sam along anyway. Hopefully one of the barmaids or waitresses would take one look at her and fed the both of them on the house. 

Sam chattered excitedly the whole walk across town about school. Dean couldn't help but marvel at it. How anyone could look forward to sitting in a dusty room listening to someone who wouldn't last 5 seconds against a ghost drone on about the importance of numbers was beyond him.

“Trust me. School sucks.” He said. Sam scrunched up her nose in disbelief. Dean insisted, “You'll see. It's awful. You just sit around all day with a bunch of harpies.”

“But Bobby said we get to read books for free. That schools have libraries and they let you take any books you want. And there'll be other kids there! I could make friends.” 

The hopeful lilt in her voice kept Dean's mouth shut the rest of the way to school.

Dean glared at the elementary school map in his hands. “Alright, Sammy. You're somewhere over here. Bye.” 

He turned around to leave only to be met with a glaring 5 year old. “Dad said you have to walk me to my classroom.”

“He did not.” Dean said. 

“He said you have to look out for me. It's the same thing!”

“It is not!”

They both glared. Who gave her permission to be that stubborn? He'd be proud if he weren't so irritated. 

Her face relaxed after a few seconds. “You can't read the map.” It wasn't a question. That smartass. 

Dean shoved the folding paper into her chest. “You do it yourself if you're so smart.”

She held it out an cocked her head quizzically to the side as she studied the floorplan. Her nose wrinkled. Dean crossed his arms smugly. 

“See? You can't read it either.” He said. 

Sam lifted an eyebrow at him and Dean immediately regretted giving her the map. 

“It's this way.” She said, pointing at a corner that lead down another hallway. 

Dean huffed. “Nerd.”

Sam just grinned, snatching his hand from his side with both her smaller ones and dragging him down the hall. 

He left her at the door with a ruffle of her untamed mop and Sam scurried over to the teacher’s desk. Sam hadn’t returned the map, but he didn’t care much. Damn thing wasn’t even helpful. So Dean wandered around until he found the fourth grade wing and knocked on a door. It wasn’t his class. The teacher in there, a tall, lanky man with glasses thick enough that they made his eyes look big like something from a cartoon, directed him the the classroom two doors over.

Dean landed himself in detention before lunch. That might be a new record but he didn't care enough to actually keep track. It wasn't his fault everybody was so boring. Sleeping was way more interesting than listening to these lunks. And more useful, too. Fourth grade was dull. It would have been better if they'd stayed at Bobby's. Than he could at least practice with some weapons or play catch, and Sam could read and beat Bobby at cards. What was she supposed to learn in kindergarten anyway? How to eat paste? School was so stupid. He couldn't wait for the day to be over. 

Sam was quiet when he swung by her classroom to get her. She sat slumped over her desk, hair falling over her face in a curtain. There were little groups of other brats around the room, some standing, some sitting, all jabbering away inanely. 

“Sammy!” Dean was proud of how authoritative he made his voice sound, of the way the other kids all startled and looked at him. “Time to go.”

Sam slid out of her chair sluggishly and trudged over to where he was waiting by the door. Dean raised an eyebrow that was either not seen or pointedly ignored. 

Half way back to the motel Dean stopped, and a few moments after Sam stopped, too. She looked at him with that look. Like she didn't understand something but it was totally his fault somehow. “What's with the mopey act? You realize how much school sucks?” He asks, half hoping the answer is yes.

Sam huffed at him, blowing a curl out of her face that retook its place a second later. “No. School's great. Mrs. Gerry says she thinks I'm ‘gifted’.”

“That's just another word for nerd, you know.” Dean grins inwardly. Of course Teach thought she was smart. Sammy could already read. Dean had taught her the ABC’s himself. Though Bobby had done most of the reading stuff. “So if you liked school why you acting like somebody just kicked your puppy?”

“People are jerks.” Sam shrugged. 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, they can be. Don't let it get to you. ‘Sides what have those kids got that you don't?” Dean thought of Sam's brain and her little voice that Dad compared to bells sometimes, if he had the good kind of buzz going. 

“Accessories. Clothes that fit. Nice hair. Houses. Moms.” Sam avoided meeting his eyes.

Dean pursed his lips. His mouth and his throat felt dry. What was he supposed to say to that? 

He didn't say anything. Dean turned and walked back to the convenience store they'd passed a minute ago. Sam just waited. Eventually she sat down on the curb. 

She shouldn't have brought up Mom. It never ended well, and now Dean was mad at her. He’d stormed off. 

A few minutes later Dean waltzed up to her little spot on the curb, hands shoved nonchalantly in his pockets, whistling. 

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” He asked. Sam didn't answer. A moment later Dean stooped low next to her and looked her in the eyes. Sam knew better then to break the eye contact. “You don't ever be sorry for having things different than other people. So we don't have a house, who needs one? So your clothes are hand me downs? What's it matter so long as they keep you warm? ‘Sides I’ve got great style. So other kids have shiny, expensive nonsense that we couldn't ever get? Who cares? We have our Dad and even when we don't have him we have each other. Besides, I may not be able to get you fancy jewelry but I am damn capable of getting my little sister some sparkly shit if I want to.” 

Dean stuck out his hand and turned his palm up to show her several glitter hair clips and ties of different colors. 

“You stole those.”

“Hey if you don't want ‘em…” Dean stood and made a show of going to drop them in the trash can nearby.

“No!” Sam shot up and reaching for him immediately. Dean dropped the mismatched pile into her waiting palms. Looking at the pile of what was obviously just the sparkliest and most girly stuff Dean could nick, Sam beamed. “Thank you.”

Dean shrugged at her words, but his grin stretched from ear to ear and Dean’s smile always had been contagious, so Sam smiled wider. 

“Help me put them in? Before school tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. Now come on, let's go. I'm starving.” He took off walking without looking back. It was a bit early, but there were drunks all day in small towns. He could hustle them, and maybe start teach Sam how to play. Sam was right behind him, taking as long strides as she was capable of to keep pace and walk by his side. Always by his side.

………

The next day was Friday. Sammy woke up early and they braided, clipped, and tied her hair with a dozen different ridiculous accessories before walking to school. Dean couldn't fight the grin he wore the whole way there. Sammy was beaming at everyone they walked by, waving at and greeting anyone that glanced their way.

Most of the old ladies and grown ups seemed endeared by the sight of her. Dean could only figure that was a good thing. When they reached the unmemorable brick building Sam skipped ahead to her class while Dean walked to his own classroom with a bit more bounce in his step than he would have on any other given day. 

The day was uneventful. None of the teachers yelled at him, so by the time school let out Dean was feeling pretty good. He swung by the little, colorful classroom that belonged to Sammy's kindergarten class but found it was empty and locked. Most of the kids had already been picked up. Dean could see through the window that the rest were playing outside under the eye of that teacher Sam had mentioned. The one that said she was a special sort of nerd. 

Dean made his way out of the building, sucking in a breath of the chilled. Autumn wan’t showing itself yet, but he could feel it slowly creeping in. As he walked over to the playground he scanned it once, then frowned. Sam should have been extra easy to spot with her hair as crazy as it had been this morning. He scans it again, this time for Sam herself and not for the rainbow clips adorning her hair. 

She was on the swing set, swaying forward and backward. No rainbow clips, no braids. Her hair looked somehow messier than usual. Dean didn’t even think that was possible. He made his way over to her quickly, his strides deliberate. He planted his feet in front of her, back rigid. 

Sam stopped swinging, but refused to look up. 

“Sammy. Where are your clips?” The question was so simple. Deceptively innocent, though his tone was hard. Sam didn’t move. 

“I took them out.” Her voice was small, barely above a whisper. 

“What.”

“They were stupid, so I took them out.” She spat, lifting her head to glare at him. Dean’s heart dropped into his gut at the tears tracks streaking down her face. Her hair wasn’t messy because she took the clips out. It was messy because someone else had pulled them out. 

“Who was it?” 

Sam looks away, and all Dean can think is that some little jackass made his sister cry. He wants to punch something, preferably someone. He clenched and unclenched his little fists. 

What would Dad do? Dad wouldn’t let someone get away with this. Nobody touched their family. Nobody got to make Sam feel like anything less than a princess, and Dean was supposed to be her knight. 

Dean looked around once more. There, on a bench near a tree was a little girl. She looked twice Sam’s own meager size, but with a round, baby’s face. She had to be about the same age. Her blond hair was short, one of Sam’s less ostentatious clips holding the thin locks back from her face. Another one, a sequined bow with a gawdy plastic gem in the center, was pinched between her thumb and forefinger. She was sitting on the back of the bench, a gaggle of other girls, some Dean thought he recognized from Sammy’s classroom. The little horde laughed at something their ringleader said as she chucked the little bow across the yard, and Dean felt his face flush with anger. 

He marched across the schoolyard to the girls, fists clenched tightly at his sides. Most of them noticed his approach and pointed and giggled. A moment later they seemed to realize he wasn't coming over to chat them up because they fell quiet. Blondie dismounted from her perch and headed up the little group as Dean reached them. 

“Hi. I’m Kelly.” She looked so smug, and he hated everything about her. 

“Nice hair clip.” 

“This thing?” She touched the sparkly barrette behind her ear. “It’s just some trashy dollar store thing, but I make it look pretty good, huh?”

He nodded once. He could feel Sammy watching him like a hawk from the swings. She was gonna be so mad at him for this. He pulled back, fist shaped just like Dad taught him, and slammed Blondie square in the nose. 

The surprised look on her face, blood dripping from her nose, and the way the other girls that had been acting like her little army shrieked and ran were all well worth it. Even worth the way the teacher, the nice, scrawny guy from the day before grabs him and manhandles him back into the school building. He had a pretty strong grip for such a stringbean. 

Sam trailed after him right up until the stringbean dumped him unceremoniously in the chairs outside the principal's office. So much for making it a full day without earning detention. 

Ten minutes later the door opened and Dean was invited in.

Mr. Hayes was a rotund man with red cheeks and a cloudy disposition. His suspenders and polka dot bowtie did nothing to off put the stern set to his brow or the sneer plastered on his face.

“Heya, Hayes.” Dean greeted, plunking himself down in one of the two chairs facing the simple wooden desk.

Mr. Hayes, characteristically, seemed unamused. He cupped his hands together and rested his elbows on his desk.“I assume you know what you did to wind up here today.”

“Course I do! I won the lottery.” Dean leaned back, going for a relaxed look, but the chair was shockingly uncomfortable so he sat back up a moment later. 

“You punched a six year old girl in the face.”

Well when he put it like that it sounded pretty bad. Dean didn't really care. “She was bullying my sister.”

“If that were the case then we have rules in place to deal with that sort of thing. If your sister was being mistreated she should have informed a staff member.” Mr. Hayes shook his head slightly, as if he were explaining something very simple. “Now just because this other girl supposedly hurt her feelings does not give you or your sister the right to attack her. Now-”

“They ripped the clips out of my sister's hair.” Dean snapped.

His casual act dropped in an instant, and Dean looked suddenly much older than any child had a right or reason to. He leaned forward and fixed his hardest, meanest look on the red faced principal. How dare he imply that he or Sammy were lying. How dare he assume that they were the bad children here and that Blondie was somehow the victim. Dean was livid. Being intimidating had never come as easy to him before, but it did then.

Mr. Hayes spluttered at the interruption, clearly thrown off by Dean's abrupt change in demeanor. “That's hardly a reason to- ! You! You're supposed to be setting a good example for Suzanna and- !”

“I am.” Dean's tone was final. The conversation was over even if Mr. Hayes didn't realize it.

“I- I'm calling your parents!”

Dean snorted at that. “Go ahead and try.” He got up and walked to the doorway, opened it, amd called back over his shoulder, “Let me know of you get a hold of him, yeah?” Dean closed the door behind him.

“Let's go, Sammy.” Dean headed down the fall and back out into the afternoon air.

Sam slipped her hand into his despite the fear that he'd push it away. He didn't. 

“Thanks, Dean.”

They didn’t go back to school that Monday, and their dad came to get them that night. John never mentioned Friday's events, so Dean figures Hayes either didn't reach him or Dad didn't care. He was grateful regardless.

John did mention the single grassy green bow in Sam's hair. Dean had paid for it with his hard earned pool money, and it wasn't one of the plastic convenience store ones. 

He'd nodded appreciatively at it and said, “Sam really ought to act more like a girl.” 

Dean wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but he found himself frowning.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets a haircut and a ride to Stanford.

Bobby's Salvage Yard was familiar and nostalgic in a way that Sam imagined a childhood hangout would be. It was much more than that because it was where most of what Sam might equate to her childhood had taken place. Most importantly it was home to one Bobby Singer.

Sam had used all of her money to reach Sioux Falls with the full understanding that Bobby would be the deciding factor of her future.

Hopefully Bobby would lend her enough money to reach California. Her Stanford scholarship would cover room and board, at least for a while. Once she got there she would need to find a job. 

Sam was not going to be known as the girl who hustled drunks for cash at college. This was her new start. Assuming Bobby helped. Maybe she could talk him into giving her one of his old clunkers that wasn't worth the price of its parts. 

If he didn't help one way or the other than Sam could kiss Stanford goodbye. She was cutting it close as it was. Worst case scenario Bobby would call John and Sam would be dragged back to living in some nowhere motel with only Dean for company. Not that Dean wasn't great, but Sam wanted more. She needed more.

She wanted friendships that were her own, that could last and be real and supportive. She didn't want to keep passing through people's lives like a mirage. She wanted to feel real, to have meaningful bonds and relationships that didn't have an expiration date. 

All bets rested squarely on Bobby's shoulders. Sam walked through the fossils of old cars to the front door of Bobby's house and took a deep breath. She curled her hand into a light fist and rapped on the door. 

The door suddenly swung open before she could contemplate knocking again. Bobby's stern face and unkempt beard greeted her. A smile stretched across her face at the sight of him, the lines of his face a familiar comfort.

“Your daddy called. Said you were missin’.” 

Her smile dropped. “Hi to you,too, Bobby.” She tried to summon up the smile from a moment earlier, but it came out as more of a grimace.

Bobby stepped out of the door frame, gesturing into his home. “You gonna come in or you gonna stand there all day?”

She dipped her head down as she slipped past him and into the home. Sam dropped her bag to the side of the door and made a beeline for Bobby's fridge, ever faithfully full of beer and very little food. She grabbed a bottle of draft, stared for another moment at the fridge's contents and decided there was nothing particularly edible. She let the fridge door fall shut behind her and turned to collapse onto the moth eaten couch of Bobby's living room. 

“Make yourself at home, why don't ya?” Bobby drawled from where he was leaning against the wall. He shook his head roughly, “John told me to call if I saw you.”

“Have you?” Sam opened the bottle on Bobby's coffee table and took a long pull. 

“Not yet.” 

Sam nodded, thinking hard about what she could say to get Bobby on her side of this situation. He and John argued a lot, but they were still friends. She scrunched her nose and took another swig from the beer. She could already feel a buzz coming on thanks to her empty stomach.

“So you gonna give me a reason not to call him? He sounded mighty angry. I'd love to let him simmer a bit.” Sam's head shot up, long curls swinging with the motion. Bobby was looking at her expectantly, arms folded across his chest. 

“Did he tell you why I left?” The words came out in a rush. She was thrilled with the opportunity to share her point of view. Bobby shook his head. Sam swapped the bottle from her right to left hand and brushed her hair behind her ear as she leaned forward. 

“I applied to college.” Sam held her breath, waiting for a reaction. When Bobby doesn't give her one she continued. “I got accepted. To Stanford.” 

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. “Good on you. How were you planning on paying for a fancy school like that?”

“I wasn't. I got a full ride.” Sam knew she was bragging a little, but really somebody by now should try to act impressed. Dad and Dean had blown their gaskets, free tuition be damned. 

Bobby lowered his head and shook it back and forth, shoulders shaking slightly. It took Sam a moment to realize he was laughing. 

“You’re the only kid I know who'd run away to go to college.” He said. Sam offered him a small smile at that. “Guessing your old man didn't take it well?”

“You could say that.” She shrugged and stared at her feet. She couldn't tell from this angle but still knew all the same that the bottom of her sneakers had thinned and ripped from use. She could feel gravel around her toes from the lot outside.

“John's a damned fool. Any parent ought to be proud of you.” 

Sam had to devote all of her efforts to not crying. She managed to hold back the ugly sobs that were clawing up her throat, but not all the tears. She managed to choke out a small “Thank you.”

Bobby nodded once in acknowledgement and waited patiently for a few minutes while Sam pulled herself back together.

“Dean's worried to high Hell about you.” 

Sam nodded. She'd known he would be. She'd known he'd get stuck with their dad's anger at her, too. Running away had been selfish of her, but she couldn't stay. If she'd stayed she never would have gotten out. 

“You ought to call him.” 

Sam nodded again, more slowly. “I will.” She promised. She repeats it to herself under her breath. She will. She will call Dean. She will apologize. She will beg for forgiveness. She will say a proper goodbye to him.

She will. Eventually. 

“So you came here because?” Sam jerked her head back up. 

“It's sort of…” She sighed and scrubbed at her scalp with her free hand, tangling her fingers in the process. Letting out a groan, Sam set down her beer and started working through the knots.  


“I'm broke. I was sorta hoping for a loan, nothing big. I just need enough to get out to campus. Like the cost of a couple train or bus tickets. I can handle from there. They're covering room and board for me, for as long as I can keep this scholarship anyway, and-”

Sam let out an aggravated growl as she tried to tug her fingers through a particularly stubborn knot, pulling her hair in the process. 

“Or I could just give you a ride.” 

Sam looked up slowly. “You could what?”

“Give you a ride. You goin’ deaf?” Bobby adjusted his hat.

“No. Yes! I mean- that'd be great!” Sam fumbled over her words. “You'd really do that?”

Bobby shrugs. “Course I would. ‘Sides, somebody ought to be there to see you off properly.”

“Thank you.” Sam gave a breathy laugh, feeling like all her troubles had been eased with the simple offer of a ride to school. “Bobby, thank you.”

He snorted at her and waved his hand. “You go wash up. You smell like week old roadkill.”

Sam shot up off the couch feeling invigorated. “Yes, sir.”

Bobby muttered something about not being called sir but Sam ignored it. She was giddy. A hot shower and a drive to Stanford. Her prospects were looking up.

She caught sight of her tangled mat of hair in the mirror as she walked in. Her grin faltered.

Sam glared at her reflection in the foggy mirror. It was the sort of fog that glass got when it wasn't cleaned well or often, or probably at all knowing Bobby's household skillset. 

Her dark hair fell down to curl just under her chest, and it stuck out on either side all the way to her shoulders. 

She could practically hear John telling her how pretty her hair was. 

Sam had never thought her hair was pretty. The curls were unruly and untamed, the color boring and common. Long hair always got in the way on hunts and did nothing but irritate her on a daily basis. The only reason she’d let it grow this long in the first place was because John wouldn't let her cut it out of some ridiculous notion of maintaining her femininity. 

John wasn't here though.

Bobby had a pair of grooming scissors in the drawer under the sink. He usually used them to cut the thread if he was patching someone up. It was the only time Sam ever sam him use scissors for anything. She threw open the drawer a bit too roughly, jostling the contents. Clippers, scissors, tweezers, pliers, and a dozen other things rattled against each other making metallic clinking sounds. 

Sam grabbed the little scissors, grasped a fistful of hair, and started cutting. Hacking, really. Clump by clump, dark hair fell to the floor, piling at her feet. She nicked her ear in the process, but didn’t stop. It felt like shedding away heavy shackles. 

Sam grinned at herself in the mirror. The haphazard mop of hair that now didn’t go past her ears, one of which was bleeding. She admired her freckles, what few were left from her youth. She’d often thought her freckles would stay with her into adulthood, as Dean’s had, but the older she got the more they vanished. She was too tall and too thin and awkward and gawky with too wide shoulders, but to Hell if she didn’t love her reflection in that moment. 

After taking a quick shower and thoroughly washing herself off Sam diligently cleaned up the bathroom and headed downstairs to help Bobby load the car. Not that there was much to load, just an overnight bag for himself and the duffel with everything Sam owned. To her surprise there was another duffel when she got downstairs. No doubt full of things Bobby had packed for her. Probably weapons and some books.

Bobby was settled comfortably into his usual armchair, a near empty bottle of beer in one hand and a well loved book in the other. He looked up as she came down the steps and into the living space.

“You cut your hair.”

“Yeah.” She faltered momentarily, but straightened her back the next second. Shoulders back and a shit eating grin was the best armor, according to Dean. “How’s it look?” She gave her damp hair a flick with her hand for emphasis.

Bobby considered her for a moment. “ How's it feel?”

Sam let out a long, slow exhale, “Good. It feels good.”

Bobby took a swig of his beer. “Looks good. Better than that rat's nest you called hair before.”

Sam laughed. “That's fair.” 

Bobby finished his bottle and placed the empty bottle in his dusty side table. He rose up from the aged cushion, stretching his back until it gave an audible crack that made Sam wince. “Y'all ready to head out then?”

“Ready as I'll ever be, at least.” Sam answered with a shrug of one shoulder.

She was doing this. Really, actually doing this. 

Sam hefted up the duffel Bobby had packed. It was heavy, as expected. Once she had it resting on her shoulder she bent to pick up her own, but Bobby made the scram motion with his arms. He lifted the duffel himself, his own bag already over his shoulder and headed out the door. 

“Lock the door.” He tossed Sam a set of keys which she easily caught. 

After locking the front door and laying a salt line she walked over to the scrappy truck she knew Bobby favored. The other two bags were already in the back, so she tossed the third in with them. 

Sam turned back to Bobby's home wondering when she'd see it again. Would she ever see it again? 

She felt tears prick at her eyes and found herself grateful when Bobby yelled from the driver's seat.

“You coming? We ain't got our whole lives, and I don't know about you, but I can feel myself gettin’ older over here.”

Sam laughed. She'd miss Bobby more than this place, and she could always call him. He might even be happy to hear from her. Climbing into the car, she said a mental goodbye to Singer Salvage and buckled in. 

The drive to Palo Alto was uneventful. Sam slept for some of it, gave directions, and generally pestered Bobby. They made stops for gas and junk food intermittently. 

He’d never admit it, but Bobby was doing his best to savor Sam's antics. It’d probably be a long while before he got to experience them again. 

Sam had always been the quieter of the two Winchester kids. Bobby had thought it strange since she was the younger sibling, but she and Dean simply expressed themselves very differently. 

Dean for all of his outward boisterous attitude had been a somber child. Grief hung off of him and the weight of too much responsibility given too young. 

Sam had always been outwardly thoughtful and intuitive. On the inside though, she was every bit as angry as Dean was sad. 

He loved these kids. 

How John could treat them the way he did baffled Bobby, but what could he do? 

The last time he'd seen John in person had been over two years ago, and they'd gotten into fisticuffs. The two remained friendly and still helped each other out with hunts and lore, as hunters did, but Bobby had sworn if he ever saw John again he'd shoot him. 

Sam was going to college, and if John had the gall to be mad with him for his role Bobby would happily keep that promise.

Bobby drove for 20 hours before Sam wrestled him into giving her the wheel so that he could get some shut eye. He woke up with the car next to a gas pump. Peering out the window he read the words ‘Gas N Sip’ in bold red and rolled his eyes.

Sam walked out of the building a moment later with two coffees and a plastic bag hanging off her wrist.

“Good, you're up. I come bearing food.” She held up the bag. “And caffeine.” She wiggled the cups in each hand a bit. 

“Caffeine first. I'm driving.” He groused.

Sam stood back for him to exit the Passenger's side door, then handed him one of the coffees and climbed in. 

Bobby took a long drink appreciating that she'd prepped it just the way he liked it. He immediately felt more awake. Bobby walked around to the Driver's side and got in. Sam held out the keys and he swiped them from her hand before starting the engine. 

It spluttered, then came alive with a groan. The rest of the drive was passed in a comfortable quiet, the only sounds the radio and the engine. Sam passed him a sandwich from the little plastic bag that he ate. 

As they reached Palo Alto Sam became restless, rolling down the window and staring at everything they passed. Her right leg bounced. “You think I'll make friends?”

“Sure. Why wouldn't you?” Bobby answered, eyes fixed on the street in front of him.

Sam didn't answer immediately. She wanted to say ‘Because I'm a freak’. Instead she settled on, “I've never been great at it is all.” Dean could walk into a room of strangers and walk out with a dozen friends, but Sam wasn't her brother. She'd barely ever been able to make friends at their schools, and whenever she had, they'd left soon after. 

“You'll be fine. You're a nice, smart girl. People’ll notice and want to be your friend. Might take time, but that's alright.” Bobby glanced at her quickly to see if she was actually listening. She had a crooked little grin, so he left it at that.

“Alright. This is campus, I guess.” Bobby pulled onto the side of the road, a single beat up truck in an ocean of mini U hauls and weeping mothers. He suddenly felt very out of place as he looked at the posh upper class families dropping off furniture and children alike. He looked over to Sam, who looked a bit like a fish out of water. She met his eyes and after a beat they both broke into laughter, Sam snorting and Bobby's shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Once the two calmed down, Bobby threw the door open and got out, eager to stretch. Sam followed suit a second later, still snickering. 

“You sure about this, kid?” 

“As sure as I can be.” Sam moved to get her bags from the back of the truck. She climbed onto the side of the truck. The lighter one she tossed over her shoulder, the heavier one she threw from the truck bed onto the sidewalk.

Bobby knew better than to pack anything fragile.  
Probably. 

Sam hopped down from the truck wheel and onto the sidewalk, landing next to the other duffel bag. At the same time, Bobby moved around the front of the truck to meet her. 

Sam let out a heavy sigh and swung her arms back and forth. 

“So.” She put her hands on her hips, fidgeted, then shoved them into her pockets. She gave a little shrug with her shoulders. “Thanks, Bobby.” She moved forward to hug him, then aborted and rolled back on her heels, giving an awkward laugh. 

Bobby surged forward and wrapped arms around her. “Least I could do.” 

His beard felt scratchy against her cheek, and she smiled and returned the hug. They stood there embracing for a moment. Sam felt a little less out of sorts when they parted, and Bibby felt a little more like a parent parting with their child. In a way he was one, he supposed. 

“You take care of yourself, Sam.” He said. 

“I will.” Sam assured.

“Focus on your classes.” 

“I will.” She smiled. Most of the students here were probably getting a similar speech from a nagging mother with pearls around her neck. 

As if to support the comparison Bobby placed one hand on his hip and wagged his index finger at her. “Don't get sidetracked with some boy. I don't want to have to make this drive again to cut some bastard's balls off.”

“Duly noted.” She nodded.

“I mean it. You get knocked up, and I will be back here, and there will be Hell to pay.”

“Ok, I believe you, Bobby.” Sam chuckled, shaking her head from side to side. 

“I'll miss you.” He told her. His arms dropped back down to his sides. Something about him looked defeated in that moment. 

“I'll miss you, too, Bobby.” Sam moved forward and hugged him again. She squeezed tight and he squeezed right back.

They stayed like that for a long while, neither quite willing to let go. They didn't know how to say their goodbyes to each other. A lonely man that made his home in a junkyard and a girl who grew up between a few dozen motels and the backseat of a car. They weren't sure what they were supposed to be to each other but knew they were family. 

Bobby pulled away first, reminding himself that Sam needed to do this. She was getting out. Not many people got to leave this lifestyle, but she had a real chance here. If that meant never seeing her again, he'd do it. Even if it broke his heart.

He ruffled her short mop of hair and admired how well he could see her face now. Sam had grown grown up pretty. Tall, thin, amd tan. She had a narrow face and high cheekbones, and Bobby appreciated that he could see her face properly. She always used to hide behind the curtains of her hair, but not anymore. No more hiding.

“See you around, Kid.” Bobby turned back to the car.

“You wish.” She flashed a cocky grin, reminiscent of Dean. He raised a hand in goodbye as he pulled away from the curb. Sam waved back, a bit sadly. 

Bobby would see her again, but not for a few years, and not before a whole mess of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3! Please comment, subscribe, etc..! I'm wrapping up with the pre-series stuff next chapter. I won't be doing this episodically. That would take forever. Just highlights and personal favorite moments. I'll be running canon adjacent for the most part. Anyway let me know if there's any specific scenes you'd like to see with this Sam or story suggestions. Love y'all and thanks for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica Moore is really gay.

Jessica Moore was a purebred American sweetheart. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and sun kissed skin. Her pearly smile, framed by painted red lips, only enhanced her beauty. Born to a wealthy family, the middle child of three, Jess grew up pampered and well loved. 

Jess wasn't just a pretty face though. She graduated valedictorian in high school, played lacrosse all the way through middle school, and was an active volunteer in her local community.

She was, in short, a dream come true. Being accepted to Stanford came as no surprise to her parents. Her mother, an old fashioned housewife all the way down to her bones, had remarked that if she was going to a fancy school like that, she better come home with a good man.

Jessica had smiled and brushed aside the comment. Her mother had meant it jokingly, at least mostly.

Jess was definitely never going to bring home a nice man. She had never told her parents, nor her brother or her sister, nor anyone at all. She'd never even said it out loud, but from the time Jessica was 10 years old she had known.

Jessica Moore was very, very, very gay. 

She liked girls. There was no question about it. The thought of kissing a boy, often the thought of even touching a boy, was downright repulsive. 

She'd tried dating boys in high school. The results were much as she'd expected. Her string of failed romances really only served to confirm what she herself already knew. 

College was exciting largely because she was able to be more open about her preferences. She wasn't walking around campus draped in a rainbow flag, but she was up front with her friends about it when the subject arose. It was refreshing.

By the time sophomore year came around Jessica was comfortable in her own skin and in her own sexuality. She still wasn't sure when, or even if, she would come out to her family. With a few brief flings and one serious relationship with a girl that only ended semi poorly under her belt, Jess felt like she was in her prime. She could go out with dozens of girls for the rest of her life.

Then she saw Samantha Winchester.

Jess wouldn't learn her name until a few days later. Rather she would not connect the girl and the name for a few days. 

She had heard of Sam Winchester way back in freshman year. Pretty much everyone on campus had. From the rumor mill Jess had thought Sam Winchester was some kind of ravenous troll and not an exceptionally tall girl. 

According to rumors, which could always be trusted, Sam Winchester had showed up in a truck leaking exhaust fumes with nothing more than a couple of army duffel bags and the clothes on her back. The man dropping her off, presumably her father, had been scruffy and homeless looking. Sam supposedly kept knives under her pillows and mattress and could reportedly kick a grown man’s ass into the next week, as several bystanders could attest to.The Sam Winchester of rumors was half feral and only wore ripped and dirty clothing, with dark stains of questionable origins. Jess had surmised that Sam Winchester was probably a serial killer.

Her friend Tara had been the one to correct her when she caught Jessica staring. They were out at the local coffee shop on a reprieve from studying, and Sam was sitting, hunched over a book, at a table across the shop. 

“Got a thing for the tall ones, huh?” Tara had asked, amused.

Jessica had flustered, cheeks turning pink, “So maybe I do.” The whole obsession with height differences had never made much sense to her, but looking at the giant girl and imagining her bending down to kiss Jess was really, really cute. Jess wanted to tangle her fingers in that short, adorable mop of curls.

“Well you probably won’t find one taller than Sam Winchester.” Tara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a sip of her coffee.

Jess took one moment to process, then two, then “That’s Sam Winchester?”

She may have spoken too loudly because the next moment Sam was looking at them curiously, her nose scrunched up in a way that just made Jess want to swoon. Jess ducked behind her own raised hand in an attempt to hide her face. 

Luckily for Jess, the entrance to the shop opened, the bell chiming softly, and in walked Tyson Brady. Under normal circumstances Jess would have been loathe to see Brady. She didn’t like him at all. He always skeeved her out somehow, like he just felt off. As it was though, she was relieved because his entrance took Sam’s attention away from her. 

Brady looked around the cafe for a moment before spotting Sam, who was looking at him with a perfect deadpan. “Sam!” He waved dramatically, making a show of crossing the shop to her small table. Sam rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and scrunched her nose at him. 

Jess could make out Brady’s voice, but Sam was too quiet for her to hear. They were speaking easily to each other, Brady in his melodramatic way, despite the fact that Sam wasn’t even looking at him. She had seemingly resumed reading her book, the only sign that she was listening to his ravings was that her lips were moving. It was an odd sight, but both seemed very much at ease with the state of it. 

Tara was talking again, something about plans for Winter break. Jess nodded along dumbly. She had no idea what was going on. 

Brady wasn’t dating Sam, right? She was so beyond not his type. Sam was wearing loose jeans and a plaid shirt, her lips were pale, uncolored, and Jess would guess she’d never held a tube of lipstick in her life. Brady went for sorority types. Girls with bright and unnaturally colored lips with glitter and gloss. Somehow the difference between their mouths was the only thing Jess could focus on at the moment. She felt suddenly very aware of of her own pink lip gloss, her tongue darting out to taste the coffee that lingered there. 

They could not be dating. Jess knew Brady, and he would never go for a girl like Sam. Not that Jess knew what kind of girl Sam was. 

And yet. There they were, chatting, looking to the world like a normal albeit oddly paired couple out on a casual coffee date. 

Jess focused on her coffee cup. She was getting ahead of herself. She didn’t even know Sam. She’d never even spoken to her. Sam probably didn’t even like girls, because honestly, Jess could not be that lucky. 

When she looked up again Sam was gesturing toward her and Brady turned to look where Sam was pointing. Their eyes met and Brady’s face split into a positively evil grin. She felt her heart drop into her gut. The very next moment, without breaking eye contact, he was pushing back his chair, making a terrible screeching sound against the linoleum floor. Brady sauntered over to where Jess and Tara sat.

“How’s it hangin’, ladies.” He asked. Brady leaned over to rest his elbow on their table, invading their personal space.

Tara turned to look at Brady. She was only .5 seconds into this encounter and she already looked completely exasperated. Jess gave him her best attempt at a friendly and polite smile. Brady smiled back at both of them. It seemed oddly sincere. She hadn’t thought sincerity was something Brady was capable of. 

Jess chanced a glance over Brady’s shoulder and caught Sam looking her way. She looked slightly mortified. 

Brady’s voice snapped her back to the immediate situation. “So my friend seems to think you’ve been spying on her for the past half hour.” His tone is jovial, and Jess wished she could smack him. 

Her face felt hot and was likely beet red. Sam had noticed? Was she being that obvious? She probably thought she was a freak. 

“Maybe you and your friend should realize that nobody pays as much attention to you as you think they do.” Tara answered.

“Tara!” Jess chastised. “Don’t be rude.”

Tara shrugged, but didn’t look the least bit apologetic. Jess doubted she had any intention of being less rude in the near future. 

“Yeah, Ta-ra.” Jess sucked in a breath and held it. Brady was terrible, but she would not stoop to his level. “‘Sides I wasn’t talking to you.” He turned fully to Jess. She resisted the urge to fidget, feeling like he was dissecting her. His gaze felt intense and invasive in a way that was foreign to her. Like he wasn’t just looking at her, but actually seeing everything that she was and everything that she wasn’t.

“Can we do something for you, Brady? Or are you just here to be an asshole?” Tara crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well I was wondering if Jessie here would like an introduction or if she just wanted to keep stalking her.”

“She was not stalkin-” Tara’s voice is louder than is socially acceptable for such a public place, but Jess doesn’t care at the moment.  
Jess cut her off. “I’d love an introduction.”

Brady smiled, and held out his hand for hers. Jess gave it to him. 

He lead her through the tables over to Sam. Sam who was sitting there, face in her hands, ears red. Brady stopped in front of her. He clapped his other hand, the one that wasn’t currently holding Jess’, onto Sam’s shoulder. She looked up, and Jess could only think how pretty Sam looked when she was flustered.

“Jessica Moore, meet Samantha Winchester. Sam, meet Jess.” He looked between them, mischief glimmering in his eyes, before he let go of them both and walked away. He sat down in the seat Jess had just vacated and joyfully started pushing all of Tara’s buttons. 

They stood there, blinking owlishly at each other for a moment, cheeks burning. 

“Hi.”

At the same time, “Hi.”

They both laughed for a moment, and suddenly it felt very natural to be standing there in front of her. Samantha stood up, towering over Jess a bit, and held out her hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Samantha.” Jess said and took Sam’s hand in her own, hoping she would not find fault in the sweatiness of her palms. 

“Likewise.” Sam said. Her grip was firm. “And please, nobody calls me Samantha. It’s just Sam.”

“Sam.” Jess repeated, tasting the name on her lips. She loved it. “It suits you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! One more chapter here for pre series. This was going to be the last but I kind of like leaving this chapter here, so I'm splitting off the rest of their relationship into another chapter. Once that's done I'll be heading back and editing through what I've got so far with my dear friend Spectra. Check out her stuff. She's a much better writer than me.  
> Sincerely hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. Please, please, please leave comments and kudos!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectra/pseuds/Spectra


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